


Remember to Remember

by machka



Category: Bandom: MWK, Real Person Fiction, Tulsa Gangstas
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Embarrassment, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machka/pseuds/machka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'If you are never scared, embarrassed or hurt, it means you never take chances.' ~ Julia Soul</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hc-bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile/) challenge, using the prompt "Embarrassment." Title and cut tag from the Midwest Kings song mentioned in the fic, "Godspeed."
> 
> Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. The events described therein are not intended to represent actual events. No libel or defamation is intended in posting said fictitious work.
> 
> In other words, it's not real, because I made it all up.

"Oh, my God, he's gonna kill me..."

Moaning aloud, Andy slumped into a battered, moth-eaten chair in the ready-room backstage, and buried his face in his hands, scrubbing hard. Knowing how upset Andy was, his bandmates, Justin and Robby, trailed in after him, biting their lips and exchanging looks.

"Andy, c'mon, it's not that bad..." Robby murmured, approaching the young teen to pat his shoulder awkwardly.

"'It's not that bad'?!" Andy snarled, jerking his head up to stare his drummer down, his face flushed and twisted in anguish. "Robby - I forgot the fucking words to the song! A song I helped _write,_ Robby! How in th' _fuck_ did I forget the words??" Jesus fuck, if ever he'd wished that the ground would open up and swallow him fuckin' whole...

Squeezing his eyes shut, Andy thumped his fists hard against his temples as if trying to jostle the words loose, and Justin stepped forward to grab his wrists, stilling Andy's hands.

"Andy, relax," the bassist pleaded, keeping his voice low and soothing. "I mean, hey - your first time on stage, an'all... That's...dude, I'm sure he'll understand..."

Andy ground his knuckles into his temples, drawing shaky breaths through parted lips. "No. He won't," he replied, flat and hoarse, believing it to be true with every fiber of his being.

"If it makes y'feel any better, I don't think anyone noticed, " Robby piped up again. "They're all pretty wasted..."

"Not. Helping!" Andy snapped, shaking off his bandmate's hands. As if it weren't bad enough that he'd blanked out on an entire verse to a song he'd co-written - they had to fuckin' remind him that he didn't even have the luxury of alcohol to blame for his amnesia...

"Just...leave me alone, okay?" he moaned, quelling a sob as he slid down in the chair and covered his face again. "I don't wanna fuckin' talk about it."

"All right..." Justin said quietly, nudging Robby's arm and beckoning him away. If the kid was inconsolable, well... Best to let him stew in his own juices, then.

The pair headed for the ready-room door, pulling it open just as their red-headed bandmate was about to enter. Justin jerked his head toward the younger man, huddled in the chair.

Neal's gaze shifted to Andy and then back to Justin, a slight frown of confusion creasing his brow. With a shrug, Justin shook his head and rolled his eyes, tugging Robby out into the noisy club beyond, leaving the other two men alone as the door swung shut behind them.

Andy listened to Justin and Robby's footsteps retreating, the music of the DJ drowning out all sounds of their departure. Believing himself to be alone, he indulged in his misery, choking out a low, sobbing "...fuck!" as his eyes welled with tears.

Neal chewed at his lower lip as he studied Andy in silence, uncertain what was going on, or how he should be responding. Obviously, though, the kid was upset over something; and equally obvious, judging from Justin's attitude, was Andy's resistance to dubious reason. Breathing out a soft sigh, Neal moved over to the other boy, nudging the side of Andy's foot with his toe.

"So, hey...great job out there t'night," he said quietly.

Andy startled and jerked upright, letting out a surprised squeak. His face flushed a deep scarlet as he confronted the one person he feared facing the most.

"No, not really." Andy scoffed, his voice watery with suppressed tears. "Or were you too drunk to notice my fuck-up, too?"

Neal took the withering glance thrown at him without a flinch, keeping his voice as level and calm as it was low and quiet. "Y'mean what happened on Godspeed?"

"What, did I fuck up somewhere else, and not know it?" Andy squawked, his eyes widening in mortification before he curled up into a ball in the chair and buried his face against his arm. Jesus, what the fuck was he thinking here, anyway? He didn't belong on-stage, no matter what his father said...

Neal pulled up the other battered chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he waited quietly. It was obvious the younger man was distraught... If he had to guess, Neal would say that Robby and Justin had already tried to settle Andy down, and had failed in their own ham-handed way.

"No, y'did great on everything else..." he answered truthfully. "You did an awesome job out there t'night, actually..."

Andy growled his dissent, hunching his shoulders defensively, and Neal scraped his chair along the floor, coming to a rest beside Andy's head.

"You did," Neal insisted quietly, running gentle fingers through Andy's hair. "I'm really proud of you."

" _Proud_ of me?" Andy choked out, raising his head to train his red-rimmed and teary eyes on the red-head beside him. "I forgot th'fuckin' _words,_ Neal, to a song I helped you fuckin' _write!_ I'm a _singer_ \-- the only fucking thing I have to do is remember th'words!" The younger man swallowed a raw sob, turning his head away quickly. "I let you guys down," he continued, his voice hoarse. "I don't know what I was thinkin' when I thought I could do this..."

"But you _did_ do it," Neal murmured, his lips curving in a faint smile. "So, yeah, I _am_ proud of you, Andy," he whispered, leaning in closer so his words would carry in spite of the noise beyond the door. "Your first time on-stage...first time frontin' a band, too..." he continued, his fingers soft and insistent in Andy's hair. "How many of your friends would be able t'get up there and sing a complete set, in front of a full house? How many of them would remember their own names, much less complete lyrics to new songs only a few days old, without a bouncin' karaoke ball?"

"None of 'em," Andy whispered, sniffling as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He was trying his best to tune out his best friend's voice, but the low, soothing tones and Neal's fingers combing through his hair were working their soothing magic. He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out in a slow sigh, closing his eyes.

"You've got the more difficult job, to be sure..." Neal ran his hand gently down Andy's neck. "When I fuck up -- and gods, yes, I do fuck up, you know -- 'member that key signature snafu at the start of Lemmings? Yeah, y'do, I see that smile of yours..."

Andy's mouth was twitching in spite of himself. "Yeah, I do," he rasped out, uncurling a bit in the chair. "I 'member it sounded like fuckin' shit..."

"Yeah, sure did," Neal agreed. "Shit like that, though, I can play off with a little bit of improv. It's harder t'cover up flubbed lyrics, true...but the important thing is, y'didn't let it get to you -- y'didn't let it show out there on stage. There's people with tons more experience than you, that can't recover as quickly as you did, or with half as much poise."

Andy let out a soft sigh and pillowed his head on his forearm, staring at Neal with a sober expression. "So...you're not mad at me?" he asked quietly.

"...No," Neal replied in a matching tone, caressing the damp tear-tracks away from Andy's cheek. "I'm not mad, and I don't even hate you, sorry...you're fuckin' stuck with me. Now, c'mon," he murmured, thumping Andy's knee lightly with his fist. "Get your sorry ass out of that chair so I can buy you a beer."

"My dad would fuckin' kill you. And, you'd get arrested," Andy replied, unfolding himself and getting to his feet.

"Okay, okay...I'll buy myself a beer, and let you sneak sips of it when I'm 'not looking,' is that a deal?" Neal grinned.

"It's a deal," Andy murmured, cracking a small, shy smile. "Oh, and Neal? Thanks."

"No problem," Neal replied, knowing Andy wasn't talking about the beer. He wrapped an arm around the younger man's shoulder, squeezing it until Andy groaned. "We'll just keep working on it at practice 'til you get it right."


End file.
